My Last
by Original Katie Bell
Summary: Harry's just 15 years old. He's lost all his family, watched a person die, and seen Voldemort return. Now his God Fathers dead. There's only so much a person can take before they snap. Post Ministry Battle in OotP. WARNING: Cutting, Adult Themes, Ect.


A/N: Hey, everyone. I'm sorry to announce this is my last fan fiction more or less. To those who were waiting for 'Shame', please forgive me, I had every intention of finishing it. I will try as hard as possible to get some others up. Well, thank you all, and good night.

Dedication: Little Miss Mionie, for all her help with this story.

Harry dropped the golden wizards head as his knees buckled and he fell to the polished floor of Dumbledore's office. Harry kneeled there staring blankly off into infinite nothingness before he spoke in a horse whisper, "It's my fault."

Harry collapsed onto his heels as he wept, tears carving salty paths down his dirty cheeks. Soft sobs turned somehow into heart wrenching screams as the portraits stayed, as if frozen, in their frames, confused at what they could do to comfort the broken child in front of them.

Harry screeched in agony as he sprang up violently, flinging with all his might one of the chairs across the room and cracked at it hit the wall. He screamed again, louder this time, running over to the bookcase and hauled it to his feat as countless books splayed across the floor.

A few of the portraits begun yelling out to him, trying to reason with him, but nothing mattered. Harry raged on, tearing the pages from his Professors precious books, screaming, "No! Not again! I can't have-"

He shrieked again, pulling the spindle-legged table down to his feet as the glass objects shattered at his feet.

He stared at the gleaming bits of glass, his breath heavy.

"They're dead because of me…" He breathed, staring transfixed at the glass, "Cedric… and S-" He stopped suddenly, choking back his godfathers name. He shut his eyes and took in a deep breath, opening his eyes as he exhaled, "Sirius is dead because of me."

Harry sank to the floor, reaching out towards the glass.

"Potter, don't do this." Phineas Nigellus said, trying to reason with Harry, "Fetch Dumbledore." He said to Everard, whom nodded and all but sprinted out of the frame to the Ministry of Magic, "Potter… Potter, don't do anything stupid…"

But Harry ignored him. He swallowed thickly and winced as he dragged the piece of glass up his arm. He exhaled raggedly and leaned back against desk, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to calm himself down.

"Harry, Harry if you can hear me, please, open you eyes."

Harry grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to block out the voice ricocheting around his skull. He muttered, "Dammit, Nigellus, shut up."

"Harry!"

Harry blearily opened his eyes, and blinked rapidly as he was pulled into a tight hug by something (Oh, well, someone) with a shock of bushy, brown hair.

"Merlin, you're awake!"

"I'm not Merlin…" He muttered in his half awaken confusion.

The some one hugging him laughed lightly, pulled back, and handed him his glasses. Harry put them on and a feebly smiling Hermione came into view, "Trust you to make a joke at a time like this."

Harry's eyebrows knitted together and he looked at his surroundings. Two rows of beds with curtains around them were up against the clinically approved white walls of the hospital wing. He looked down upon himself to see that he also was in one of the beds, pillows stacked so he was in an up right position. He was wearing graying pajamas of some sort and his left forearm was with his bandaged wrist laying upon his lap for the world to see.

Harry's brain went immediately into 'panic mode'. He sucked in a sharp breath of air and pulled his slashed wrist to him, 'No! This isn't meant to happen! This-' He thought desperately, eyes widening.

"Please, Harry, I'm here for you... I understand-"

"No you don't!" Harry screamed, "No one does…" Tear's blurred Harry's vision and he shut his eyes tightly behind his glasses.

"You'd be surprised." Said a saddened voice.

Harry looked up in bittersweet curiously and was shocked to see Hermione rolling up the sleeves of her robes. She placed the tip of her wand to her forearm, looked around anxiously, swallowed thickly, and muttered some incantation. Small scar's cut by a girl's timid nature littered Hermione's wrist.

"See, Harry?" She said, eye's glossing over, "I need you too."

The End.


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